I paused, stunned, the door ajar, hand on the knob, not sure what to do. He was talking about his mother, I guessed, and I hesitated before pushing the door open to look in on him. He was sitting naked on the hottest day of the year in the living room, a laptop open in his lap to some pornographic website, some nasty bitch fingering herself on the screen. He had a hard-on. I looked at his lower body and noticed his legs were covered in open sores and rashes. His left arm had a needle mark.
That submissive voice inside my head whispered 'go back upstairs' but it soon conceded to the stronger voice which banished it. Instead the voice suggested I ignore the boy, let him get dressed, perhaps even leave quietly.
I gripped the doorframe, the wood rough under my hands. I tried to brace myself.
"Hi Justin. It's your dad," I said, voice soft. He flinched. I knew he heard my voice, or at least something, through the crack of his bedroom door.
"Come in, dear," he said in that tone people use when addressing an animal, but I stood my ground, watching. It was too late now to pretend this was, indeed, just a sick kid I had seen wandering around the house, and it wouldn't be right either. I was going to have to confront this problem like a man. Justin was my son. He might be sick, he might not be. It didn't matter. He was my son and I would do what had to be done.
"Justin, where's your phone?" I asked, but he mumbled something.
"Huh? I couldn't hear you," I said, leaning in.
"I said it's in my pants," he said loudly, rolling his eyes.
Ah, his pants were there on the floor beside him, still zipped up, and I picked them up.
"And where are your pants?" I asked, taking them into the bedroom. He pointed to the hamper.
The phone was in the left pocket, well, the one that had existed at some point, now breaking open, the pleat held together by threads. I pulled it out - and a weevil dropped to the floor. I couldn't help but notice it had three legs.
"Justin, have you been eating raw meat? Have you been on a lot of medication?" I asked, walking back into the living room. He shrugged and went back to fiddling with his cock.
"Dad, I just got here, I don't want to have to go home and explain to Mom why I'm not there when she gets back," the boy whined, but I didn't care.
"And where's the door key?" I asked. He rolled his eyes at me, but then he grabbed it from under his pillow. It was in the other hand.
"Is anybody else coming over?" he asked, looking at me with those eyes. I didn't answer. I could tell he was disappointed I wasn't playing along.
"I'm not in the mood, okay? I'm going to be sick," he said.
"And you can't even open the bathroom door," I said as I took the key I found under his pillow and unlocked the bathroom door, swinging it open. Then I put the key back, his fingers still resting on it, looking hopeful. But I wasn't going to play that game.
He gave me a rude gesture before stalking out of the room.
I know he was still in there when I unlocked the bathroom door and went in. There was the sound of retching, and then it stopped when I threw up once out of frustration, clenching my fists. I didn't want to see it, but I did. I took one look at the contorted, bloody face that was full of crap. Then I closed the door and slammed it.
I remembered going upstairs for a moment, to get dressed before facing my boy. When I returned, I found him standing at the front door.
"Are you ... are you ready to go home, son?" I asked gently.
"I've got better things to do," he said. I was surprised.
"Sure," I said, puzzled. "I believe you do. But there's no reason for you to think that. If you're sick, would your mother not forgive you?"
"We just need a few days alone to sort a few things out," he said. "What the fuck are you doing here?"
"You know your mother asked me to keep an eye on you. She thinks you've been onto drugs or something. But I'm more concerned with the state of your health. As long as you can tell me you're well, I'm fine with you not needing Mom right now."
"Are you fucking high right now, Dad?" he asked.
"Its just... I don't understand your behavior."
"I did not want to hurt her," the boy sobbed. "Horrible things, hurtful things like you wouldn't understand. I was so scared you would hurt her and I couldn't stop them."
"I don't understand," I said.
"You're my Dad, I wanted her to be safe. And unless you are a pedophile, it's not right. Can't you leave me alone?"
I felt like he was going to cry. I felt awful. I thought about it. I let him down. Maybe he was saving our marriage, maybe he didn't see the harm. But it didn't feel like it. But I was so angry. I looked boys in the eyes. Maybe I did see a little bit too much of the perverts out there. I turned around to leave. Then I had a momentary flash of clarity.
Maybe if I just let him have his way, I might have peace of mind again. Who wasn't getting fucked on here? So much for my commitment to virtue, and to doing what was right. But if I was going to be cuckolded, I might as well try to make the best of it.
"I promise, Justin, things will be different from now on. I'll make sure your mother is happy. She was right to worry about you."
"I can't believe you caved," my ex-wife said from the end of the hall. She was wearing a bathrobe. I felt about four feet tall.
"I think he's been on drugs. I don't know what to do," I said.
"What kind of a father are you?" my ex-wife asked. "Apologizing to him! You think he cares?"
"But he needs help, he can't continue this way, and I don't know what to do," I said, and I felt defeated.
"Do you deserve any help?" she asked. "You were the one who hurt yourself. You were the one who shut him out. I don't know what to do, but I'm doing it. And you need to come along. I'll drive."
"I need to shower first, and I need my clothes," I said. She didn't answer, and I didn't wait to hear from her. I made my way back down the hall to give her space to shut herself in the shower. I went straight to my room to get a pair of pants, comfortable or not. I put them on and made my way back downstairs to the car.
"Goddamn it, you make everything worse with every step," my ex-wife said from the passenger seat. I got into the car.
"He doesn't deserve a father like you," she said, and I probably deserved every word.
On the way home, I looked over at the boy, sleeping in the back of the car. He looked terrible, worse than even yesterday, coughing as he drifted in and out of consciousness.
"Did you take him to a doctor?" I asked.
"What kind of parent am I?" she said.
"Did you even try?" I said.
"I don't know what to do. He's beyond hope," she said.
"Better to let him go, whatever it takes," I said. I was pissed off, like I said.
"Look. I know you think you can just go out and get a good time. But look at what you're doing. You have responsibilities, you have a family. A sick family. You're going to have to take care of it, all of it, or else our family is just like your car," my ex-wife said.
"You don't know what I'm going through," I said. My head was pounding. I couldn't believe what a fool I was to walk away from my marriage. My own daughter hates me!
"I don't care if you feel you can't do it. You are --"
"But you're not doing what's best, what's most important," I said.
"I'm doing this for you. Look, you're the one who needs help. You're the one who needs to accept the responsibility, if that's what it takes, for us all to improve our lives."
I looked at her. Then I looked at him. He looked at me, but I didn't look back. He was hurting, and it was my fault. An unintentional, conflicting assault, driven by passion and need. He's a sophomore in high school. He's not a kid. He's a man.
The things I did were wrong. She was right to call me out on it. I looked at the steering wheel. I thought of the day I saw her naked for the first time, in the bedroom, having just bathed. I thought of the first time in the classroom, after the test.
I was a fool. I just wasn't determined. I didn't care enough. And I needed to try again.
"We'll find a way," I told her.
"You know I need you, don't you?" she asked. I nodded, and gave her a big kiss. She was willing to forgive me for anything.
"Once you've done it once, you can make it work," I said.
"I think you're delusional," she said.
"You weren't a teenager the last two months," I said.
"How can I complain when I deserve what I get," she said. "You did it. Another try for the man."
"I promise not to make another mistake."
"Then we should make sure this goes well," she said, and leaned into me into the kiss. And I felt good. I felt relieved, yes, but also really good. I wanted to make this work. And I was going to do everything I could to make it work.
The problem is, in our fucked up society, there's no clear indication of whether you are doing more harm than good. I wondered, did I really want to follow my own advice?
We went out that evening. It was great. We went to the movies. The boy was very quiet and distant, but he put on a happy face. At least, I hope it was a happy face. My ex-wife humors me. She was her usual self, flirting with her hair, laughing and joking, wearing her favorite jumpsuit, looking sexy. I thought about it a lot.
I needed a little time alone with my boy. There was something we needed to work out, along with our own problems. I noticed that she left the house with more mischievousness than I've ever seen.
When we made it home, I stopped one of the kids who was leaving.
"Hey, you ready?" I asked.
"Huh?" he asked.
"Yeah, that's your textbook, right?" I asked. He looked at his teacher as he put his coat on.
"Yeah, I'm not sure," he said. Then he went to the car with the other kids. I waited for the opportunity to speak with the teacher alone. I don't mean that one should try to seek the company of a teacher either. I mean that the parents should be where the teacher is, for the children's sake.
"The child is going to need some extra help with his schoolwork. He needs to be with you and I for as long as possible."
"I thought he was doing fine," the teacher said. She walked with me to the front door. The others were already inside waiting on us.
"Do you have a moment to talk?" I asked.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"I just need you to know that I'll be here as much as possible. You can keep an eye on things and talk to Justin when it's appropriate."
"Are you in trouble?" she asked.
"No," I said. "I just don't want to miss out on anything. School is important, and I don't want either he or I to miss out on an opportunity to get an education. We have to help him. Together, we'll see to it that he gets up to speed academically. I'm his father, but I won't be able to get him through this alone."
"You're a wise man, Mr. Walker," she said.
She smiled at me in a warm and friendly way. I took her hand. I felt like I was being weak. She looked scared, as if she was afraid of me.
"You and I will help him," I said. I pulled her into my arms and gave her a passionate embrace. We held each other for a long time. She was soft and warm. She smelled good, just like my mother used to. It was a familiar and satisfying scent.
"I'd better to go," she said.
"Thank you," I said. I knew she wouldn't do anything sexual with the children there, but there was more.
"Of course," she said. I closed the door behind me, while she left alone. I was at least happy that he might be getting a chance to catch up. I was worried that he might fall behind, especially if he was taking drugs.
I went into the house and looked for my wife. I found her in the kitchen.
"Hey there," she said, turning her head and smiling at me. I stepped into her arms.
"How was it?" she asked.
"He looks fine," I said. She was delighted to hear that he was doing well.
The boy came in and started to play a video game. I watched with him for a few moments. I gave him a hug, then went to do some more work. I didn't have a lot of work. I mostly worked to keep myself out of trouble. I had to find something to do. I didn't want to make it look like my life was slipping away again.
I set up a system where it looked like I was the one who was working the most, and then I would come home early. My wife and I had a good life. At least, I thought we did. And I wanted to make sure it stayed that way.
"Hey," my wife said, walking up behind me. "You've been working pretty hard lately."
I nodded, agreeing with her. We were partners.
"You seem to be in a good mood today," she said.
I looked at her. She was smiling. Pretty much everything about her made me happy, I thought.
"Shall we?" she asked.
I followed her into the living room. I noticed that the kids were all gone. There was no one around. Something caught my eye. My eyes fell on a crumpled note. It was a note from my ex-wife.
I started reading it, when my wife walked in behind me.
"What is it?" she asked.
I shook my head, and reached for the note. She took it away from me.
"What is it?" I asked, reaching for the note again.
"I've been thinking," she said. "We should separate for a while."
The words stunned me. Somehow, my heart sank. I couldn't tell why.
"Don't you feel like that's what we should do?" she asked.
"Like what?" I asked, not taking my eyes of the note.
"Like you think we'd be better off apart. Don't you think that you can do better?"
"I think you've been doing a great job with the children," I said.
"I think you should be able to do a little more. You should be able to give them a little more. I don't want to hold you back," she said.
I could feel the tears forming in my eyes.
"The kids… Please, don't do this. Not now. Please, we can fix this," I told her.
"Make me proud of you, Walker. I need you to do that. It's hard to live with someone without them."
"What have I done to you? I'm trying to make things right. I'm trying to help you. You started cheating on me, and you've been meeting that man for a long time. We can work it out. It won't be hard. Just don't take the kids away from me. Don't take the kids…" I cried.
"It will be hard for you, Walker. You'll be strong. You'll learn to be strong again."
"I can't do this now. I can't."
"I'll talk to a lawyer," she said.
I shook my head. "No," I said.
"Why not?" she asked.
"I don't want a fight. I don't want to fight."
"And I don't want you to feel paranoid either," she said. "I just want you to have confidence in yourself. I think it will be better for everyone."
"Please, don't take that note so seriously. It's just a stupid note. It doesn't mean anything," I said.
"It says something, Walker. You're not going for help like you promised. It'll only get harder. I don't want to be the one who stays home all alone. I have my own interests, remember?"
I shook my head. This wasn't happening. I wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come to my eyes.
"I'd rather be your wife than your hero," she said.